𝙲𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚖(𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚃𝙰𝚁)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔢𝔩𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔫

   Feyre and I spent a few days in that cell, though they took her out once. She had come back shaking. She told me about the three tasks she was expected to do.

   We ate moldy food, drank warm water, and spent the nights huddled together in the hay for warmth. 

   When the day of her first task arrived, I held her all morning while she trembled with fear. I comforted her through my own tears until she was taken by the guards.

    I spent an hour rocking back and forth. I threw up in the corner from my nerves. I wasn't sure she would survive.

Selfishly, I didn't think I'd be able to survive down here without her.

    When I saw the guards bringing her back, the relief that filled me was warm, and soothing. The relief was short lived when I saw the state she was in.

     I wrinkled my nose at the smell of her, realizing she was covered in mud. I didn't even want to know what the task was.

     And her arm . . . The bone was poking out, though I could barely see the wound through all the blood. I nearly threw up again.

✯¸.'*¨'*✿ ✿*'¨*'.¸✯

     I spent the next few days keeping a careful eye on Feyre's injuries. I knew that there was a risk of infection. With some dandelions, I could've made a paste to help prevent infection.

     She couldn't keep any of the rotten food we were given down. The corner of our cell now reeked of vomit. With some ginger and mint, I could've made her a tea to help her stomach.

     She was also burning up with a fever. There were many concoctions I could've made for that. But we were stuck in this cell. And I was useless.

     Feyre leaned against my shoulder, barely strong enough to lift her head.

     I jumped as darkness rippled around the door. Rhysand winnowed into our cell, his violet eyes shining in the dark.

"What a sorry state for Tamlin's champion," he teased.

"Go to Hell," Feyre snapped, but the words were little more than a wheeze.

     He stalked closer with that feline grace and dropped into an easy crouch before us. He sniffed, grimacing at the corner splattered with our vomit. Rhysand cocked his head.

"What would Tamlin say," he murmured, "if he knew his beloved was rotting away down here, burning up with fever? Not that he can even come here, not when his every move is watched."

"Leave us if you're going to be like this," I mumbled. He raised a brow at me.

"I come here to offer you help, and you have the nerve to tell me to leave?"

"Your presence is only making her feel worse," I snipped.

"You must feel so useless," he mused to me. "Watching her fade away like this, knowing there's nothing you can do."

     He was right. I hated that he was right. I hated how he could hear every thought I had. 

"Get away," Feyre groaned.

"You made me a lot of money, Feyre," he informed her. "I figured I would repay the favor."

     Feyre leaned her head on my shoulder again with a slight whimper. I wrapped my arm around her, holding her close to me.

"Let me see your arm," Rhys said too quietly. She didn't move. "Let me see it."

     A growl rippled from him. Without waiting for her reaction, he snatched her elbow and forced her arm into the dim light of the cell.